Page 6 of Coming Up Roses

"Tay—"

"Sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry, not even a little. "You should go."

"What would your mother say if she could hear you right now?" I say as I rise from the booth. I almost laugh at the absurdity of my question. His mother would probably be proud—because that tone I couldn't place earlier . . . it's all Kathy Mills.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to investigate. Like a devil summoned, there stands Mrs. Mills, her face as pinched as ever. "If I could hear what, Ms. McGraw?" She shuffles past me and arranges herself into the seat I was just in.

"Mother, Myla here was just informing me that she's . . .with child."

Mrs. Mills entire body tightens. "Are you now? And my Taylor needed to know why?"

"Because he's the father," I tell her honestly. Some stupid part of me is holding out that the thought of becoming a grandmother will make her knock some sense into him.

She looks down her nose at me. "Oh, Myla Rose. You poor, poor thing. You're certainly turning out to be just like your mother."

I suck in a breath through my teeth. The nerve of this woman. I'm done playing nice. Finished.

Leaning down, I press my palms into the end of the table top. "Well, I'm sorry y'all feel this way. A baby is always a blessing, and I've got this with or without you, Taylor Mills. Not only will I raise our baby on my own, I'll thrive while doing it." Taylor makes to interrupt me, but I stand to my full height and place my hands on my hips, silencing him with a sharp look. "If there's one thing my Grams has taught me, it’s that from shit, flowers grow. So, y'all can sit back and watch me fucking blossom."

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